They were working industriously round one of the biggest standard roses
when he caught sight of something which made him utter an exclamation
of surprise.
Why! he cried, pointing to the grass a few feet away. Who did that
there?
It was one of Mary s own little clearings round the pale green points.
I did it, said Mary.
Why, I thought tha didn t know nothin about gardenin , he
exclaimed.
I don t, she answered, but they were so little, and the grass was so
thick and strong, and they looked as if they had no room to breathe. So
I made a place for them. I don t even know what they are.
Dickon went and knelt down by them, smiling his wide smile.
Tha was right, he said. A gardener couldn t have told thee better.
They ll grow now like Jack s bean-stalk. They re crocuses an
snowdrops, an these here is narcissuses, turning to another patch,
an here s daffydowndillys. Eh! they will be a sight.
He ran from one clearing to another.
Tha has done a lot o work for such a little wench, he said, looking
her over.
I m growing fatter, said Mary, and I m growing stronger. I used
always to be tired. When I dig I m not tired at all. I like to smell
the earth when it s turned up.
It s rare good for thee, he said, nodding his head wisely. There s
naught as nice as th smell o good clean earth, except th smell o
fresh growin things when th rain falls on em. I get out on th moor
many a day when it s rainin an I lie under a bush an listen to th
soft swish o drops on th heather an I just sniff an sniff. My nose
83